


Kris Shelley's Relationship with Love

by tumblingStar



Category: Therapy with Dr. Albert Krueger (Video Game), Vincent: The Secret of Myers, 文森: G4人偶事件 | Vincent: Phantom of the G4 (Video Game)
Genre: College AU, Gen, Sort Of, but its not because dino999z's characters are in here, i can't wait until Dino gives us more canon about Albert and proves all my headcanons wrong, it gets significantly less college au-y as the chapters progress because everyone grows up, mostly fluff for now with extremely mild angst, this is so full of headcanon that it might as well be original fiction, will get spicy later so minors......go away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28984602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumblingStar/pseuds/tumblingStar
Summary: It wasn’t until they got outside that Kris broke their solemn character, leaning into Albert and nudging him with their shoulder. “You’re always getting me out of scrapes.”“But of course.” Albert smiled down at them. That ever-present loneliness sat behind his eyes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”“More than that, according to this!” Kris giggled and held the certificate out with both of their hands, studying and admiring it. “This really does look incredibly authentic. Is it legally binding?”They nudged him again, laughing, and Albert didn’t respond. He smiled down at them, and he walked away.“Al—Albert?” Kris stared after him. Then they followed. “Albert? Is it legally binding?”“I’m afraid I have other things planned for today,” Albert said, as if they hadn’t spoken. He unlocked his car door. “Otherwise I would have loved to have taken you to a late lunch. Have a good rest of your day, Kris. Happy birthday."“Albert, are we married?!”MINORS READ ONLY THE SUMMARY OF CHAPTERS TITLED WITH AN ASTERIX
Relationships: Albert Krueger/Original Character, Vincent Edgeworth/Victor Blake
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. La Vie en Rose

“You look like you want to dance.” 

The voice pulled Annabella’s attention from her meal, making her realize she’d been staring blankly into the middle-distance. Albert was watching her, his cheek resting on his hands, a knowing little smile decorating his handsome face. 

“Pardon?” she asked, barely able to hear herself over Vincent beside her scolding Victor over something or another. Every time Albert Krueger’s silver eyes caught her gaze, she felt almost like they’d been sucked into their own little world, bubbled away from everyone else. 

“You were swaying.” Albert supplied, and gestured to her with his free hand. “Like you have a song in your head, and you’d like to dance to it.” 

“Oh.” She blinked, wondering absently how he’d managed to figure it out so precisely. “Well, yes, actually. Just an old song I’ve heard a few times.” 

“What’s it called?” 

“Ah,” Annabella paused to search her memory. “ _La Vie En Rose_ , I believe, by Edith…” 

“Pilaf,” Albert finished, apparently familiar with the song. “That _is_ old, I believe it was written in the 1950s.” 

“Yes, well,” Annabella smoothed out the ruffles and frills of her skirt on her lap. “My mother considers us to be a family of culture. I’ve been exposed to many aspects of history from a very young age.” 

“Mm,” Albert hummed. He just stared at Annabella for a moment, before standing up and making his way around the table to stand beside her and hold out a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?” 

Annabella took in the busy college cafeteria around them. “I—right here? Now?” 

“Just a simple waltz,” Albert offered, as if that was the cause for Annabella’s hesitation. “ _La Vie En Rose_ is a short song, and we have plenty of time before your next class.” 

“That’s not what I…” Annabella trailed off, helpless against those silver eyes boring into theirs, wide and both innocent and mischievous at once. Without finishing their sentence, they laid their palm atop his and stood. 

The _height difference_ was considerable—Annabella’s dancing instructor hadn’t been much taller than her own even five feet, but Albert… Albert was… well, the top of her head didn’t even reach his shoulder. 

Her mother would call them a bad match—and she would act as though she meant only for dancing, but Annabella doubted the woman would approve of her daughter’s taste in friends. Victor clearly didn’t come from money, Vincent was blunt to the point of rudeness without much care for what anyone else thought of him, and Albert... well, Albert composed himself like a perfect gentleman, and his family name would impress Josephine Shelley, but there was just something about him that Annabella couldn’t put her finger on that sent just the faintest hint of fear up her spine, mixing with a subdued degree of infatuation to turn to _thrill_. Her mother would hate him for it. 

But Albert pulled Annabella into a perfect dancing form, despite their difficulties in height, and he smiled down at her, and she felt her face heating up, and she decided that whatever her mother had to say about Albert Krueger could wait until they actually met. 

Gloved fingers tapped against her waist to help her keep time, and then Albert began singing. The French rolled off his tongue like it was native to him, and he had said he was from G2, after all. His voice was smooth and rich, and even when Annabella turned her head to keep from feeling as though he were singing directly to her, she could feel his gaze boring into her. She must have been an unladylike scarlet by this point. Her mother would tell her to be ashamed. 

She wasn’t. She was floating; her feet felt lighter than they had ever before, and a sunburst of yellow and glitter swirled and shone in her chest, turning to a giggle as she exhaled. 

The dance ended far too soon, with Albert turning her under his arm and bowing to kiss her knuckles as she came to face him again. She muffled another giggle with her free hand, giddy and still feeling as though she were spinning when she sat down. 

Victor clapped over-dramatically, and Vincent rolled his eyes. Annabella tried to cover her ruby cheeks upon realizing that at some point she and Albert had actually drawn their attention, pressing her cold fingers to her heated skin to try and reduce her flushing. When that didn’t work she cleared her throat and began gathering her things. 

“I’ve just remembered, I have a- a thing to finish. I have to go,” she hurriedly excused. 

“Good luck with your thing,” Albert propped his head on his hands again, wrist-gloves looking soft against his cheeks, as they had been in Annabella’s palm. “Perhaps we can have another dance soon.” 

Annabella stammered something nonsensical and fairly fled the room. 

Later, Vincent and Victor would tease her for her obvious crush on Albert, and she would deny it until she was blue in the face. There was no use in entertaining impractical thoughts, of course. She saw the way Albert looked at Vincent; regardless of whether or not Vincent returned Albert’s feelings, his pursuit of the other was as obvious as their one-sided rivalry. 

Whatever Annabella felt, and whether or not she would be able to defy her mother—Albert’s sight was never set on her.


	2. Haircut

She—no, _they_ , hadn’t quite planned it. It was an impulse, sitting with their friends, nervously fidgeting their hands, telling the boys around her— _I don’t think I’m a girl._

It could have just been the forced femininity her whole life. _Their_ whole life. The seized agency. The collar that grew tighter with every attempt to exercise their free will, convincing them that they weren’t a girl. Or maybe they always saw a stranger in the mirror because they _weren’t_ a girl, no matter how much their mother dressed them as one.

__

__

And though Vincent, Victor, and Albert had been obvious with their involvement in the LGBT community, it was still a dizzying relief to Annabella when they accepted this new information. 

That was that, it seemed. Victor asked if she—if they had a new name in mind, but they hadn’t even thought of that. They were encouraged to share as soon as they did. And then Vincent went back to studying, Victor to bothering him, and Albert to getting on both of their nerves. 

But Albert was more observant than they gave him credit for. He must have noticed the way they pulled at their hair, picked at it, the dark waterfall that fell to their hips. Before leaving for his next class, he told them to come to his apartment after all their classes were over. 

The next thing Annabella knew, they were sitting on a backless chair in Albert’s kitchen. Their hair was wet and combed over their face, and they were borrowing his clothes—a button-up worn soft and buttoned to their neck and a faded pair of slacks, both far too large for them. 

“Sewing shears should work well for cutting hair, shouldn’t they?” Albert asked in his melodic voice, all optimism and cheer as he moved around just beyond the curtain of dark hair that was Annabella’s field of vision. “How short do you want it?” 

Oh, god, hell if they knew. They’d never cut their hair before—they wouldn’t have agreed to come over if they’d known this was what he’d planned. They had a lunch scheduled with their mother in a week; she was going to be furious. 

“Uh,” Annabella stuttered. “C-collarbone?” 

“Sounds great.” Albert’s voice came from directly in front of them, and they jumped slightly when they felt his hand trace gently down their face over their hair. He hummed a tune Annabella was unfamiliar with, fingers—free of their gloves, they realized—following the column of their throat to rest on their collarbone. They had difficulty swallowing. 

Albert slid a chunk of hair between his fingers and lifted it, giving Annabella a sliver of a window to the world outside their hair. The shears glistened in the kitchen light. 

_Snip._

A long, long lock of wet black hair fell onto Annabella’s lap. Their stomach knotted. 

Albert made quick work of his task, progressively working around Annabella, using their own previously-cut hair as a guide to make sure it all evened out. Despite this, Annabella was stiff with tension, clutching the sides of the chair they sat on hard enough to numb their hands. Albert touched their shoulder gently after he finished cutting, making them jump. 

“Anna,” he said softly, “Are you alright?” 

It was far too late to go back now. They had to be alright. There was no changing what they’d done. They nodded once, curtly. Albert hummed, neutrally, and Annabella knew he didn’t believe them, but he didn’t press it. 

“Would you like some bangs?” He asked. “As it stands you’re not going to look much different than you did before.” 

Annabella nodded. Why not? They’d already cut off a good foot of length. What was a chunk from the front? 

“Excellent. Where do you usually part your hair?” His hand left their shoulder to skim along their scalp, just to the left of the center of their skull, and Annabella shivered at his touch. “Here?” 

They nodded. Albert trailed his hand from their scalp to just in front of their face, parted their hair ever so slightly, and started snipping again—creating bangs that swooped to the side. 

“There.” He combed the hair out of Annabella’s face, and they were left staring at him plaintively. He smiled, reassuringly. “Now we just have to dry it, and you’ll be good to go. Happy?” 

Annabella nodded, but they weren’t happy at all, actually. They were scared. The weight off their hair was a weight off their shoulders, but every lock on the ground was a knot in their gut. They had no idea what their mother would do to them when she saw. 

They had never wanted anything more than they’d wanted this haircut. They had never feared anything more than they’d feared this haircut. 

Albert’s reassuring smile didn’t falter. He set down the shears, cupped Annabella’s face, and dragged his thumbs over their eyelids to close their eyes. “You’ll get to look after it’s all dried and styled.” 

“Albert—” they wrapped their hands around his wrists to pull his hand off of them, but it was a halfhearted attempt at best. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of their head, making their heart seize for a second and thoroughly ceasing any argument. 

“You’ll get to look after,” he repeated, chuckling, and he pulled away. 

Annabella didn’t open their eyes. 

The hair dryer was loud in Annabella’s ears. It was a comforting kind of loud, and warm, and let them zone out for a while—until Albert turned the hair dryer off prematurely, combing his fingers through their half-dried locks. 

“Hm,” he said lightly. 

“Hm?” Annabella asked. 

“It looks like your hair has a bit more bounce back than anticipated.” 

Annabella’s eyes shot open as they tired to stand, looking around for something reflective to see theirself in. “What does that mean?!” 

Albert put his hands on their shoulders and pushed them back down into the seat, his reassuring smile replaced by a stern look. “Did I say you could open your eyes?” 

Annabella stared at him. “You’re kidding me.” 

“I didn’t say you could look, Anna.” 

They took a deep breath and closed their eyes, trying to ignore the fear-nausea rising up within them. “What does it mean, Albert?” 

Albert’s hands disappeared from Annabella’s shoulders, combing through their hair again. “If I had to guess, the weight of all your hair had straightened it. Now that it’s gone, your hair is curling, and it’s looking shorter than it really is.” 

The knots in their gut rolled over into nausea. Annabella slumped forward, resting their elbows on their knees and their head in their hands and moaned, terrified. “My mother’s going to kill me.” 

Albert’s hand didn’t leave Annabella’s hair, continuing to comb through it soothingly. “You can blame me, if you’d like. ‘Oh, that Krueger man, his family does dream therapy, I should have known he was up to something when he asked to practice hypnosis on me.’” 

It wasn’t funny, but Annabella’s dry laugh was more out of appreciation than joy. “Oh, she would sue you.” 

“A little lawsuit is nothing the Kruegers can't brush off.” Albert’s chuckle was warm and comforting. “You want me to finish drying this so you can look at yourself?” 

“God, might as well, huh?” Annabella gave another dry little laugh and sat back up. They would never blame Albert like that, but the idea that he was willing to take the fall for their decision was… it made their heart clench in their chest. Or it would have, were fear not already doing so. 

The hair dryer came back on. It was only a few minutes before it was turned off again, and combing their own fingers through it showed them it was dry. And short. It barely came down to the tops of their shoulders—far shorter than the collarbone-length they’d requested. Annabella felt their breathing pick up, but they allowed Albert to take their hand and lead them up from the chair, back to the bathroom, and 

Oh. 

_Oh._

_There they were._

It was like looking at a stranger—except, except it wasn’t. They’d been looking at a stranger all of their life, and for the first time, they were finally seeing their real reflection. It was them, with short-cut hair, wearing a shirt and pants. That was them. That was really them. _There they were._

And it _was_ curly, their hair—thick, loose curls that gave them a kind of unkempt, fun look, and it felt so nice to touch. They couldn’t stop touching their hair, gripping it, pulling it just to watch the curls bounce back. 

“I take it that you like it.” Albert was leaning against the doorway of the bathroom, watching them and just smiling. 

The enormous smile spread across their face and the tears in their eyes compelled them to agree. 

“I don’t really look like an 'Annabella' anymore, do I?” They asked him. 

“Not remotely.” He replied. “You look like an entirely different person.” 

They nodded. 

They changed back into their dress, but even that couldn’t dampen their good mood. They helped to sweep up their discarded hair and vacuum what had fallen off of their borrowed clothes on the path towards the bathroom. They hugged Albert tightly, for a good long while. They went back to their apartment. 

And they started looking at names.


	3. Pronouns

Kris sat in the back of the class, as usual, though this time—as it had been for the past week and a half—Kris was not sitting in the back to minimize their own existence, but to sit by Vincent. 

Kris didn’t have too many classes with the boys; they were all into marine biology, and Kris was not. Kris was attending for what their mother and aunt had called an MRS degree—basically to keep them in stasis as they waited for a suitable husband to be found for them, and to search for their own. It had never quite sat well with them, though they had never voiced it. 

But sitting beside Vincent, wearing clothes borrowed from their masculine friends and hair shorter than they could remember it ever being, they wondered if they’d be able to nudge their classes in a particular direction. What did they _want_ to do? What interested them? If their mother disowned them—if she somehow discovered Kris’s rejection of their femininity—what could they see theirself doing to support theirself? 

“Now, as Annabella noted last class, the problem in this paragraph—” 

“Kris.” Vincent said loudly, interrupting the professor’s lecture. 

The man turned around, blinking. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Kris sent out an email to all their professors and notified you in person that they changed their preferred name and pronouns.” Vincent replied calmly. There was an edge of distaste to his voice, subtle enough Kris was sure they were the only one to notice. “You called them by their deadname. I was just reminding you.” 

“Right, of course. Thank you, Vincent. As they noted last class, the problem in this paragraph…” 

“Thanks, Vince,” Kris whispered, leaning to the side and bumping their shoulder against his. 

Vincent gave them a look, like he was surprised by their gratefulness. “Of course. You have a right to be respected as much as anyone else in this class.” 

The next week, Vincent would get sent out of class for the amount of times he corrected the professor for using the wrong pronouns for Kris, and he would get near apoplectic when the class ended and the professor tried to lecture him for interrupting. Kris would frantically flag Victor down to pull him away before anything physical could break out, and the three of them would sit in the RMU cafeteria with Vincent seething, Victor hanging off of him, and Kris sitting there, letting it sink in that they really were loved. Whatever happened with their mother, whatever happened with their classes, they had friends to fall back on.


	4. Developments*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW implied in the first half of this chapter, here is the summary:  
> Kris wakes up next to Albert after spending the night with him. They reflect on how they should let him sleep, because he seems to be sleeping less and less lately, but they accidentally wake him. They apologize, but he dismisses it, telling them he should have gotten up anyway as he's having lunch with his father to discuss insomnia running in the family. He then compliments Kris tenderly, and it flusters them. Kris thinks of their feelings for Albert, but ultimately decides not to act on them, as Albert has feelings for Vincent.  
> In the second half, Kris is stunned after receiving a call informing them that their mother died in her sleep the night before. Their friends try to comfort them, but they lament at the fact that they're not actually sad about their mother's death--just relieved. They express relief that as their mother's sole inheritor, no one else in the family is going to have the authority to tell them wheat they can and cannot do. Their freedom is their own. Victor assures Kris that they're under no obligation to grieve a woman who had abused them. Albert recalls that Kris's mother died in her sleep, and seems uncomfortable.

Kris was sore. There was a pleasant ache throughout their limbs, like the day after a good workout, and where their legs met their hips. They were warm under the covers, pressed close to Albert’s body, and they were so comfortable. They felt safe. 

Opening their eyes revealed Albert’s room to them, spotless save for their clothes thrown to the floor, illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through half-slanted blinds. It must have been relatively late in the morning for the sun to be that bright already. 

They rolled over to face Albert and found him on his back, still sleeping—which was good. Anyone who knew Albert could see that he hadn’t been sleeping well the past few weeks. He wasn’t rumpled, he still held himself to that crisp image that was so uncommon among college students, but the circles under his eyes that had appeared out of nowhere were growing steadily darker, and he was more inclined to zone out that normal. 

What else was concerning was how he looked so… _lonely,_ his head turned towards them. People were supposed to look peaceful when they slept, Kris had been lead to believe, but Albert’s face when slack and unsmiling just gave him a look that so clearly said he’d never had a real friend before college. That he still didn’t feel quite connected to them—to Vince, Victor, or Kris. He looked open and exposed. 

Kris couldn’t help the impulse to slide an arm over his waist and pull theirself close to him. They felt him wake up the moment their skin touched his, but they tucked their head beneath his chin and cuddled up to his chest anyway. 

Albert returned the gesture, rolling onto his side, wrapping his arm around their shoulders, tightening his hold for a moment. “Good morning.” 

“Sorry I woke you,” they muttered against the skin of his neck, breathing in his smell. He still smelled like his cologne; something spicy and smokey but sweet. 

Albert’s reply came in a soft, relaxed hum. “It’s alright. I needed to get up anyway.” 

“I think you needed to sleep more than anything,” Kris’s tone was ever-so-gently scolding. Albert outright laughed at that, prying Kris off of him by the hair at the nape of their neck and pressing a kiss to their lips, to their collarbone, and then releasing them to roll back onto his back and stretch. 

“Funnily enough, that’s _why_ I needed to get up.” He told them, that ever-present teasing smirk back on his face. It almost, almost hid that lonely look, but now that Kris had seen it, they were never going to be able to unsee it. They knew what to look for. “I’m having lunch with my father regarding the possibility of genetic insomnia.” 

“That’s good,” Kris said. They pressed their lips to his jaw, waited for his hum of appreciation, and pulled back. “That’s really good.” 

“So are you.” Albert’s silver eyes darkened with that look that sent shivers down Kris’s spine. 

They laughed to suppress the flutter in their gut. “Me? Myself? I?” 

“Undoubtedly.” In one swift movement Albert sat up and grabbed Kris around the waist, hauling them into his lap and kissing a trail from their shoulder across their collarbone, down their sternum, to their belly button, speaking as he went. “Every inch of you,” _kiss,_ “every centimeter,” _kiss,_ “is of the highest quality,” _kiss,_ “I’ve seen in my life.” _kiss,_ “You have the sweetest disposition,” _kiss,_ “and the most magnificent brain,” _kiss,_ “and anyone would be lucky to behold you.” 

There he stopped, chin resting just below their navel, looking up at Kris with that dangerous look, like he was going to eat them whole. “And I’ve been lucky enough to behold more than my fair share of you twice now. I believe I’ve had quite a _thorough_ assessment of you. If anyone knows how good you are, it’s me.” 

Kris went hot and cold all over, weaving their fingers into the hair from his undercut that was actually long enough for it. His curls were tighter than theirs, but loose enough not to tangle easily. He always made them flush with such ease, knew exactly how to make their heart flutter like a butterfly in their chest. 

There was something unspoken between them. Something Kris would be happy to talk about, if they had the words to. Something they suspected even Albert didn’t quite know how to approach. Something nonetheless, something heavy and magnetizing that drew them together. 

But Albert’s feelings for Vincent were nearly as obvious as Victor’s in his own way, and while Vincent obliviously held Albert in distaste, Kris knew he respected him as well. In his own way. Kris… wasn’t going to be the one standing in between them, should Vincent change his mind and choose Albert. 

“What time is it?” they asked, letting the thousand other things they couldn’t verbalize slide off the table of discussion. 

Albert leaned back to retrieve his phone from the bedside table, where it was charging. “Ah. Ten thirty.” He looked back to them. “You can shower first, if you’d like.” 

Kris shook their head, scooching across the sheets until their feet touched the ground so they could stand. “No, I can wait until I get home. I don’t want to make you late for lunch.” 

“So sweet,” Albert responded with a smile and a little tilt of his head, and didn’t argue. 

*** 

Kris’s head spun. The line went dead, and their phone fell from their hand, but some caught it before it could clatter to the floor. Albert leaned down into Kris’s field of view, gently placing a hand on their shoulder. “Kris? You don’t look well, dear, let’s sit you down.” 

He lead them back to the table Kris had just left to take their call, and immediately Vince and Vic’s eyes were on them. 

“Kris? What was that call?” Vincent asked, pulling out their chair for them. 

They didn’t process what he said immediately, static filling their skull. A single thought turned over and over in their brain, loud and blinding and— 

A sharp sound right in front of them startled them back into awareness, and they saw Albert sat across from them at the table, ungloved hands clasped before their face. Had he just clapped at them? 

“Ah, you’re back.” He smiled reassuringly, and picked his gloves back up from the table. “Excellent. Now, what happened? What did I miss while I was meeting my father?” 

“What was the call about?” Victor asked, leaning onto the table. 

Kris blinked at the three of them, the words they were about to say feeling alien on their tongue. “My mother died last night.” 

Silence. 

“In her sleep.” Kris dropped their gaze to the table. “They found her this morning, contacted the authorities, let them look her over and investigate before calling me. They think she had a heart attack.” 

More silence, Kris’s friends exchanging looks, not seeming to know what to say. After a beat, Vincent put a hand on Kris’s shoulder, seeking to comfort. “I’m so sor—” 

“I don't feel sad,” they blurted out. “I-I’m a bad person for that, right? I should be upset, I should—should feel something, right? But I… I’m just relieved. Mother—Mother always called me her little doll, and she dressed me like one, and she treated me like one, and she, she sent me here so that she could find a husband for me that _she_ thinks is good enough, and she got so _angry_ when she saw I cut my hair, and—I’m so glad she’s gone!” 

Vincent watched her with wide eyes, Victor a serious expression, Albert one that was hard to read. Kris felt their heart pounding, their chest heaving, and they balled their hands into fists and brought them down on the table. “I’m her sole inheritor! Everything is mine now—the house, the company, the money! _I’m_ in charge! _I_ get to decide what to do with my life! I’ll marry who I want—I’ll _never_ marry if I want! I’ll shave my head! I’ll get a tattoo! I’ll—I’ll… I’ll…” 

They couldn’t think of anything else to do. To say. Kris swallowed thickly and ran their hand through their curls, brushing them out of their face as they peered up at their friends. “…am I a bad person?” 

“For not grieving the person who abused you?” Victor raised an eyebrow. His usual cocksure smile settled back into place as he reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes. “No. That’s good, actually. It means you’re not still attached to her. It’ll be easier to take your life back now.” 

The reassurance soothed the rapid river of panic trying to take ahold of them. Kris returned his smile and Victor stood up, knocking twice on the table before he went off to smoke, leaving Vincent and Albert alone with Kris. 

Vincent opened his mouth to say something, placing a hand on their back again, but Albert beat him to it. “You said she died in her sleep?” 

Kris blinked at him, trying to read his face as he focused his gaze on the table. Something was bothering him, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and the set of his jaw reading distress and confusion, but… for what? “Yeah. Why?” 

His mouth pursed. And he stood up suddenly. Kris hadn’t noticed him put his gloves back on earlier, but he clearly had, his hands planted on the table to support his weight. “No reason. I have something to attend to, I apologize for leaving so abruptly.” 

Vincent scoffed as Albert swiftly exited the cafeteria. “God, that’s tasteless—I can’t believe he’s leaving like that.” 

Kris just shrugged, easily torn from Albert’s plight at the concept of their own freedom. If he felt like telling them what was wrong, he would—if not, there wasn’t a thing in the known world that could get him to spill.


	5. Information

Albert hadn’t seemed at all surprised when Kris told him about their library. Vincent and Victor hadn’t believed them, had demanded an in-person demonstration of the magics Kris was teaching theirself, but they shut up and accepted it pretty quickly when the mouse was sucked into the book. Albert, though, accepted it right away. 

“My family knows things, Kris,” he’d said, and even over the phone Kris could hear a vein of _hurt hurt hurt_ running through his attempt at a careless tone. His father’s funeral had been beautiful, but it hadn’t brought any closure to Albert. He’d been _devastated_. 

“Well, now I know things too!” they chirped back, pretending not to hear his fragility. He was trying to hide it, after all—they didn’t want to run him off by trying to pry. They already hardly saw him these days. “I’ve read plenty about what exists in this world outside of our normal perception.” 

“Do they scare you?” Albert’s tone was genuine curiosity, edged with teasing. 

Kris took a moment to think on that, laying themself onto the granite check-out counter of their new home. They stared up at the vaulted ceiling three stories above and noted all the cobwebs there that they had yet to remove. “Most of them, yeah. I don’t know… I haven’t read enough about most things to be prepared to encounter any of them. I need more books. The shelves here are pretty sparse. I think the fearlessness will come to me when I know more, when I’ve learned how to properly keep myself and my home safe.” 

The air inside shifted, somehow, though Kris couldn’t put their finger on it. If they had to say anything, they’d say the building itself became a little more endeared to them, touched by their concern for its safety as well, but they didn’t have to say anything, so they didn’t. 

“What about you?” Kris rolled over into their stomach, bending their legs and the knees and crossing their ankles as they played with the phone cord. “What scares you? I’ve never seen the great Albert Gerald Krueger scared.” 

Albert chuckled on the other end of the line. “That’s because I’m not afraid of anything.” 

Kris rolled their eyes. “Really? Nothing? No spooky fish in the ocean that you love? None of the things your family knows about that goes bump in the night?” 

Another chuckle, this one deeper, and Kris could feel the flush creeping through their chest before he even spoke—though when he did, it was in _that tone_ , the one he used to fluster them, the one that had lured them into his bed in college, the one that sounded like a self-satisfied purr and a promise. “Kris, I _am_ a thing that goes bump in the night.” 

They had to take a moment, taking the phone in both hands and clutching it to their chest to catch their breath. Their face was hot. 

Faintly from the receiver, they heard Albert’s voice, fond and teasing. “You’re doing that thing where you look away to try and pretend that you’re not blushing, aren't you?” 

Immediately Kris was sitting up, dangling their legs over the counter and indignantly pressing the phone back to their ear. “Of course not! I was- I was searching through my texts to see if you’re bullshitting me! Are you, by any chance, an- a- ah, uh- an incubus?!” 

It was the first thing that came to Kris’s mind and they cringed the moment it left their lips. At least it got Albert to laugh—actually and truly laugh. That eased Kris’s worry, a bit. He couldn’t be doing _too_ badly, if he could still laugh like that. 

His laughter died back down, though the mirth was still in his voice when he spoke. “I believe if I were, you’d be dead already. Incubi feed on your life force during sex, after all.” 

He hadn’t even used The Voice again, but Kris had thought they had an unspoken agreement not to talk about—about that outside of the situation itself. Their face erupted into flames, and they had to hold the phone to their chest once more. 

God, they could not get rid of that flustered grin plastered across their face. 

“Why do you do this to me?” they asked when they could speak again, softly, but with feeling into the speaker. 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I could do to you.” Albert replied plainly. 

Kris chuckled. “Yes, as a scary dark-bumpy thing. What _could_ you do to me, then?” 

Albert hummed, as if thinking on it. “Well, I have always liked your eyes. I could hold you down and pluck them from your skull while you screamed.” 

Kris’s heart stuttered in their chest. 

“That should probably frighten me more than it does,” they murmured to theirself, and before Albert could get the chance to ask them what they said—though he’d probably heard regardless—they asked him, “ _Would_ you?” 

“Oh, no, probably not,” Albert hummed. “I like you too much for that. Besides, you have enough wards up—I doubt I could physically get to you unless you let me in.” 

Kris’s spine went rimrod-straight. “ _How do you know about my wards?_ ” 

“I told you. I’m one of the things that goes bump in the night.” 

Kris slid off their counter and into the plush swivel chair behind it. The granite top was cold, but the fabric of the chair held heat better, and warmth was what Kris needed as the building around them grew protectively chilly. Did they need protecting? Were they—were they afraid of Albert? 

Yes. They had always been. But it was the kind of fear you got from riding a roller coaster, the kind where the knowledge that no true harm would come to you flavors the adrenaline flooding your veins from “terror” to “delight.” 

The air warmed. Kris smiled into the phone. “What _are_ you?” 

Albert’s voice was patient, if ever-so-slightly patronizing. “Oh, Kris. Just because I don’t like lying to you doesn’t mean I’ll tell you everything right off the bat! You have a whole library of books. I’m sure one of them could tell you about me.” 

Half a library, at best, but wasn’t that a concept—to open a centuries-old book and find the name of a man you went to college with, a man who danced you dizzy and cut your hair and spoke in your defense against your mother and thoroughly entranced you. 

“I’m going to need more information than just ‘something that goes bump in the night,’ Albert.” Kris said instead, matching his patronizing tone. 

Albert chuckled. “Very well. I suppose you would have to know what to look for. Let’s see… What’s something that most people do at night?” 

“...swive?” 

Another laugh from Albert. Kris’s heart squeezed in their chest, filled with pink and perfume and all manner of good things. They were certain that if they let out a sigh, a flurry of hearts would fly from their mouth like bubbles from a bubble wand. He continued, “I’ve already implied that I’m not an incubus.” 

“Sleep.” 

“ _Tres bien!_ And what do people do when they sleep?” 

“That really doesn’t narrow anything down. People do all sorts of things when they sleep. Walk, talk, some even eat.” 

“Hm.” Albert’s tone was still friendly, still cheerful, but just this edge of disappointment, as if Kris were on the wrong track. “Perhaps think harder on it, dear. The next time we call, I’ll listen to your theories.” 

Kris let their head fall back, pouting. “You’re such a bastard.” 

“I’ll have you know, I am perfectly legitimate.” 

“Is that a hint?” 

They could hear the smile in his voice. “It may be.” 

Kris stood up to pace. “Fuck. What do I know about your family? Uh. Your mother taught you to bake. French is your first language. You’re an only child. You once met with your father about genetic insomnia—” 

“I didn’t realize you remembered that.” Albert said suddenly, and Kris froze at his tone. The hurt had returned. They shouldn't have mentioned his father. “I believe that to be enough hints from me, then.” 

“Right.” Kris was still burning for information, but they didn’t want to push him. “Of course.” 

“ _Mon cœur t'appartient_ , Kris.” 

“I still don’t know what that means, but you too.” Kris shifted the phone to their other ear. “Take care of yourself, Albert.” 

He hummed, and then Kris heard a click. The line went dead. 

*** 

There was a certain breed of dream demon, Kris read from _Dreams: the Psychology, Fauna, and Flora of the Subconscious_ , that was intensely powerful, but incredibly rare. So rare, in fact, that it had no name of its own. It was so rare because of the nature of reproduction; a demon of this breed can only mate with humans. A couple can have as many children as their bodies can produce, but only the eldest child will become a demon—and as they do, they will involuntarily siphon magic from their demon parent, taking the parent’s life force with it to add to the power. Upon full adulthood, the demon child will come fully into their power, and their parent will die. 

This breed of demon, Kris read, cannot sleep. As a human child they can, but upon maturity the luxury is stripped from them, as they will spend the rest of their existence with one foot in the world that can be perceived, and the other in the unconscious. The exact capabilities of this dream demon are unknown, but it is suspected that they can dreamwalk, feed from dreams, and turn humans into subservient demons. 

Albert’s father was dead. And Albert seemed to have slept less and less in the months of his failing health. _Oh, that Krueger man, his family does dream therapy._

Those silver eyes that always seemed to catch and turn to the hue of the room’s light. 

*** 

_Tres bien_ , Albert praised when Kris told him—the only French they knew, the only French they needed to know. His praise rolled through them as liquid light, illuminating them like a glowstick from the inside out.


	6. G4

Failure. 

It was etched into Kris’s very bones, tainting each breath, weighing on their smile. They failed. Vincent needed them, and they couldn’t help him. They couldn’t even _find_ him. 

Victor’s phone call had been panicked and tear-filled. So had his explanation, when Kris arrived at the Edgeworth mansion after dropping everything. Myers, the cyborgs, Vincent’s role—it was all news to Kris, who didn’t exactly keep up with events outside of the odd little pocket dimension their library rested within. It was all news—but they had seen worse by now. 

Every spell they used to try and find him either failed or indicated that the subject of their search was dead. 

Every spell meant to track down his corpse reported that there was no corpse to find. 

Kris had failed. 

But they wouldn’t fail Victor. And they wouldn’t fail Draco. 

Victor seemed content to drown himself in booze—sometimes literally, if he was drunk enough. It was Kris who cut him off while he was too fucked up to notice, Kris who forced water into him when he was hungover and dehydrated, Kris who threatened to force feed him actual food when the leftovers they’d specifically packed away for him ended up in the trash, next to empty bottles of expensive liquors. 

It was hard on Victor, who was in love with Vincent, but Kris couldn’t help but feel that he was being selfish whenever they saw Draco, forlorn in the corner, not seeming to know what to do with himself. Vincent had been a better father to the kid than their father had ever been to either of them. 

Draco was a decade younger than his older brother. And now the teenager was practically alone, because of Victor’s… indulgence. 

(And then Kris would find theirself holding Victor as he sobbed into their shoulder, and they couldn’t hold anything against him.) 

They found a “use” for Draco by enlisting his help in cleaning up around the house and cooking. He couldn’t sit around looking lost and lonely if he was by their side, double checking the cookbook to help Kris make dinner. He didn’t have to spend his days miserable and wallowing in grief when there were so many rooms in the mansion that hadn’t been touched in years and were in need of a good dusting and vacuuming. 

Victor wasn’t getting better, but he wasn’t getting worse. He wasn’t spiraling the way Kris was worried he would. 

Draco was no less alone, but he wasn’t letting it consume him, even on the days Kris had to go back to their library, their home, for one reason or another. 

And it stayed like that for months. 

Until Vincent Edgeworth turned up on the doorway of his own home.


End file.
